Collisions
by the.subverter
Summary: Assorted flashfics focusing on character interactions. Non-contiguous, multiple continuities, various characters. Some may intersect or overlap with stories currently on hiatus.
1. Glaciers

A/N: I must not start new stories, I must not start new stories. A new series of 500 word scenes. Sheps might shift throughout, including origin, sex, whatever, depending on whatever the scene and characters happen to be. This first shot is set in a very future sort of chapter of Gods & Monsters with mild AU stuff. This was me testing the waters of Miranda x Sam. Next chapter, who knows? Characters will shuffle. I will take baby steps to delve into my hiatus stories again. Will update whenever.

* * *

Miranda Lawson has a focus that makes Liara T'Soni look like a bumbling scientist. Her eyes are as cold and hard as glaciers. Even her cursory glances are penetrating. She is an unexpected addition to the Normandy and yet she walks with a commanding presence and a sense of ownership.

Specialist Samantha Traynor always stand straighter when she's near, feeling as if she is being evaluated and judged. Knowing she's being evaluated and judged. She is grateful to have survived the mortification of having being caught staring by Miranda. In that instant, there was no appreciate glance back, no hint of any deeper thought. Her face remained unreadable as before and then she was gone.

Samantha focuses on her work that thankfully (mercilessly, perhaps) there is an endless stream of. Chatty by nature, it seems fitting that she's in communications work. It had never been her plan to stay on the Normandy. She misses her friends. She misses talking to people. Everything is _so_ dire. That's what happens when the bloody Reapers attack and decide to harvest all known existence. She does have EDI for company. She could listen to her sultry tones forever but there is something about Miranda's clipped words, always steady but with an undercurrent beneath that is…well…intriguing. And she'd be lying if she said the woman wasn't a knockout. It's unbelievable to Samantha that she didn't notice right away. No matter how stunning her looks, it becomes an afterthought to her personality.

She has taken over the life support room that had mostly gone unused. She houses a few items, most notably computer equipment. It is nothing like what Liara T'Soni has set up in her space (one that EDI has informed her Miranda used to occupy) but given whatever work it is that she's doing, seems adequate.

"Is your curiosity satiated?" Miranda asks. Every word spoken is like a jolt and Samantha finds herself squaring her shoulders and looking at Miranda as she leans over the computer in front of her, the warm orange glow of the monitor washing over her features. Even then she seems steely.

"I've heard you once occupied Liara's room."

She doesn't look at her, still scrolling through the contents of the screen. "A long time ago. This set-up isn't ideal but it will do for my purposes." She stands, observing her. Samantha is used to being looked at, drank in but Miranda's gaze is calculated and objective. She isn't being swallowed like fine wine, she's being inspected as if she were some pill to swallow. "Shepard tells me you're a talented communications specialist."

"Shepard said that?" The surprise in her voice doesn't lend her any credit. She smiles wryly. "I _am_. She's never acted as if she's noticed." Then again, she has been friendlier recently, warmer even, without speaking a solitary word. "And if I've been summoned I can only assume it isn't for my good looks."

Miranda's eyes lighten, paler than before. "I've called you here for something else."


	2. Perfect

A/N: Wow! Everyone! Thanks for the positive feedback! I've been neglectful with my timely updates. For now, have a glorious guest writer chapter on Miranda, courtesy of the Allusive Man! I have a list of at least 30 scenes to tackle so no promises on which one is next!

* * *

Kai Leng thinks he's invincible. A former N7, kicked out of the Alliance for carving up a krogan in a bar fight. Enhanced with Phantom-class implants, he likes to get up close, kill his opponents with a big knife. Blasted psychopath considers himself a space-ninja.

Miranda would laugh, if she weren't so angry. She may not be the daughter her father wished for, but she has learned exactly what she's capable of, how far she's willing to go. She has eluded her father for years and outmaneuvered Cerberus death squads for the past several months. The Illusive Man told her there were no hard feelings, but he needed to "contain the situation." Since then, she's woken to raids in the middle of the night and been sniped at in broad daylight. Always, she has a contingency plan, multiple escape routes. Sometimes she fights. Mostly, she runs, living to fight another day.

Today, she fights.

Leng blusters. It's meant to intimidate, she's sure, but it sounds like the taunts of a schoolyard bully. Miranda hates bullies. Leng brandishes his ninjato theatrically. She shoots it with disdainful ease, shattering the monomolecular blade. Tossing the gun to one side, she stalks toward the assassin with cold fury in her eyes.

She smiles at the uncertainty that suddenly blooms in his features. He's about to find out what genetic tailoring and a few upgrades can do. She isn't a cyborg like Leng or Shepard, but she has acquired some physical enhancements. Nothing wrong with improving upon perfection. Nothing too sketchy, no black box technology, but her time aboard the Normandy had not been wasted. She couldn't let Shepard have _all_ the fun.

Leng knows how to throw a punch, how to take one. The fight lasts almost two minutes. Leng tries to flip out of a hold; he's nimble, she'll give him that. While his legs are in the air, she hits him with a biotic throw, catapulting him against the wall. He bounces and lands on the floor in a heap. Bloody and heaving, he looks up at her and scowls.

Miranda smiles arrogantly, controlling her own breathing. "This must be hard for you, Leng. The Illusive Man's top assassin, getting his ass kicked by a woman in heels." They click against the floor as she strides toward him, swaying softly, as if approaching a lover.

He swears at her, makes another threat. More bluster. He's beaten.

She stands over him. "You may have taken my place at the Illusive Man's side, Leng, but you could never replace me. I'm the best. He knows it, and now you know it."

She would toy with him longer, but her father has Oriana somewhere nearby. She could end his monstrous existence, but he still has a function to fulfill. The tracker is in place. Time for him to 'escape.' She turns toward the discarded gun, gives him an opening. He takes it, sweeping her legs.

Miranda calmly dusts herself off as Leng flees the room.


	3. Hungry Heart

A/N: Hm. Took me a bit to figure out who I should tackle next. I decided to pick up with Ashley and Shepard from the Death & Haunting Song short I did. I never tend to ship them unless I'm writing them. Bah! Anyway, chapter title reference to Tennyson. Oh, Ash.

* * *

The throbbing of the mass effect core echoes, causing vibrations along the metal grating of the shuttle bay floor. The Normandy is always dark, the shuttle bay more so, maybe symbolizing the gravity of their work, the weapons of destruction at hand. Ashley thinks of Shepard's hands: scarred, exceptional killing machines. Good at other things. Weeks ago Ashley told Shepard she wasn't a dyke. Shepard responded by making her come all night.

It's hard to revisit a good lay when there's enough guilt to gut her. Alenko died that day. He had a thing for Shepard. Never hid it very well. Ashley swears softly and stares at the dismantled M7 Lancer assault rifle. The compulsive cleaning isn't enough to take her mind off things.

She believes in God. There are certain things that are off limits, certain fraternizations discouraged. Anyway, her mom has always wanted her to have kids. It's easy to put off. Not like she's sitting on her ass. She has to make a name for the Williams family, has to fix the disgrace that her grandfather brought on the line. Kids seem like an impossible goal. Saren and the Geth are running wild and the one suitable male, the one her sisters found so damn charming and handsome is dead.

Shepard said she didn't let Kaidan die for a fuck. Some part of Ashley believes it. Survivor's guilt is hard to let go of. The elevator doors to the shuttle bay open, spilling pale light in the shadowy space. Ashley notices Shepard and forces herself to pick up the cleaning rod, determined. She will not let Shepard under her skin again.

She'd been aggressive with Shepard that night. Ashley acknowledges her tendency to want to one-up everyone can get her in trouble. So can her big mouth. Now she keeps away from Shepard. She'll forget what happened. It happened once. It's done. If she dreams of it, so what? Fuck Shepard for getting her off, anyway.

Shepard stands by the armory lockers, opening each one, surveying contents, shutting the doors with a metallic clank. Ashley's nervous. She squares her jaw and works the barrel of the rifle, determined to make it flawless. What's worse than a malfunctioning gun? Confusing yourself over what you feel for your shit-eating-grin CO. Shepard let her talk about her beliefs. She didn't ridicule her. Ashley's convinced it's Shepard's plot to lower her guard but checks herself. Who considers theology foreplay? Freaks.

Shepard's near. Ashley drops the cleaning rod. It rolls to the floor. Shepard picks it up. Ashley stares grimly at the weapon. It's in pieces. Useless as a defense. Shepard stands at her back, arms slipping between her own to replace the rod on the table. Shepard's proximity makes Ashley stiffen. Shepard's breath is at her ear. _"How dull it is to pause, to make an end, to rust unburnished, not to shine in use."_ Tennyson! Damn her. Ashley swallows hard. Shepard touches Ashley's chin until she faces her. "Hello, Chief."


	4. Dreams

In the final moments, it's the silence that is most surprising. Shepard holds his last breath, a numbing cold settling in as he tumbles toward the planet below. It's almost… peaceful. Fragments of the Normandy quietly escort his descent to the grave, like solemn pallbearers. The last time he spoke to his mother, he forgot to tell her how much he loved her. He remembers his first boyhood trip to Earth, how he gaped at its majestic beauty. _You weren't born here, never lived here, _Mother explained, _but this is home. It will always be home. We must protect it. Do you understand?_

He didn't understand then. Not really. But he didn't forget. He followed in his mother's footsteps, enlisted, joined N7. He did his best, gave everything he had. _I'm sorry, Mother. _

His vision dims. Soon, he will pass out. He thinks of the quarian, the brilliant, shy, yet talkative engineer. Strange that she should haunt his thoughts now. She got away safely. What stories will she tell when she returns to the Flotilla?

He's cold, so very cold. It's time. He closes his eyes and exhales, surrendering to the inky blackness.

"Skipper?"

_That voice. _His eyes snap open. There's warmth and blinding light. He's on his hands and knees, dirt beneath his fingertips.

"Breathe." A hand touches his shoulder.

He inhales, a sharp gasping sound. As he gulps air, his eyes adjust. The woman before him is just as he remembers her. Dark hair, brown eyes, full lips, incongruous pink and white combat armor.

"Ash? But… How? You're…"

"Dead? Yep. I've been waiting for you. Listen, there's no time to explain. You won't remember this anyway. Just get up. We have to move."

He rises to his feet. This can't be real. "Does this mean…?"

She shakes her head. "No, you're not dead. Not yet. But we have to double-time. You have an appointment to keep. Move it, Soldier!"

He means to ask her what "appointment," but she's already moving away, quickly. He jogs after her, trying to make sense of what he sees. There's dirt, grass, trees, rocks, but everything is blurry, faded. He peers into the distance and sees spires, a metropolis shrouded in shadow. _Is that a floating city? _He focuses on Ashley, following her through shifting landscapes for what seems like hours, until they come to a shimmering doorway.

"This is where you get off, Skipper."

He stops short. "I don't understand. Is this real? Am I dreaming?"

Ashley smiles. "Dreams are true while they last, and do we not live in dreams?"

Tennyson. Shepard chuckles softly. "That isn't an answer, but at least now I know it's you."

"Of course it's me, dumb-ass. Now go. She's waiting."

_Who's waiting?_ "Wait, Ash…" He wants to tell her something.

"Save the apologies, Skipper. You'll see me again."

"When?"

"When it's time to go back. Until then, Shepard."

_Go back?_ The next question is still forming on his lips when she shoves him through the doorway.


	5. Satin Sheets

A/N: Thanks for the reviews, everyone! Allusive and I have been having some fun drabbling it up. Feel free to PM with any suggestions you may have. For now, have some EDI x Sam!

* * *

The Normandy was once helmed by the war criminal Commander Shepard. Samantha used to imagine what it'd be like to meet her but fantasy gave way to work and the Normandy retrofits have been more than enough to keep her occupied.

The ship is considerably larger on the inside than it is on the outside. Samantha is convinced there's some space magic involved to achieve the visual trickery required for the discrepancy. There aren't many engineers on the ship and sometimes she goes for hours without seeing anyone. Luckily, the VI keeps her company.

Joker is a more grating matter and Samantha finds he interrupts her conversations with EDI fairly often with some smart-assed remark. It's usually enough to make her laugh but also hinders her from listening to _the voice_.

EDI. Sometimes, as Samantha pores over datapads, she imagines the disembodied voice attached to a living, breathing human being. More often than not she doesn't get that far and the clean, sensual voice that Samantha would like to get filthy with, is enough to make her read paragraphs over and over again without managing to retain any of it.

Talk of quantum entanglement communications is always exciting, especially with EDI who is exceptionally knowledgeable on the subject and endures her enthusiasm with grace and a good demonstration of interest, especially for a VI. They could talk about it for hours but EDI's voice has a way of making Samantha lose her focus and think, instead, of how long it's been since she's had a lover.

"So, EDI, do you have a girlfriend?" she asks playfully.

"I do not," EDI tells her sensibly.

"Would you like one?" If any of the others on the retrofit team heard her she'd be a laughingstock but she would dare any of them to deny that EDI's voice isn't enough to melt the most frigid, to harden the most limp.

"A VI does not engage in romantic relationships."

"I would have thought the same before I heard you," she scrolls several pages through the datapad before scrolling up again, having to re-read. She sits on the small steps to the galaxy map and stares at the ceiling. "Imagine the fun we could have. I'd take your voice to the nicest restaurant and we'd drink the finest wine. Maybe your voice and I would have a stroll on the beach. We'd share a few kisses but the real fun would begin at the suite we'd share. We'd barely be in the door before I pinned your voice to the wall and ran my tongue along its collarbone. Your voice would say something soft, smoky, like satin. Then your voice would take me to bed, or right there on the floor if need be and ravage me all night, until we were good and satisfied." She hears the Normandy camera zooming in on her. Is she imagining it? Is the VI looking at her? She gives her most winning smile.

A long pause transpires. "I see."


	6. The Victim and the Princess

A/N: Since I haven't gotten my -other- request up to snuff yet (sorry, Gabrielle!) , here's this one. Hope you like it, AlexN7!

* * *

Eezo tears through the room, its tail happily knocking down a collection of books off the bookshelf. Miranda is mildly horrified. It's no Reaper beam but it's in bad taste to allow a pet to run amok in a host's home. Jack smiles, unconcerned at the mess it's creating, laughing when it knocks Samantha Traynor down in the process.

"Good varren," Samantha says, holding her arms up as if to shield herself. She carefully gets to her feet. "Good God, I hope nobody saw that…" Eezo gets down on its haunches, ready to spring. Pure terror marks Samantha's features.

Miranda looks away from her to study Jack. It's been months since she's seen her. She hadn't anticipated her at the party. She hadn't known she was alive. It's a relief. But the relief was short lived as Shepard came around talking to them of sexual tension, telling them they ought to kiss and get it over with. They have in the past and now it will be impossible to get a moment alone together without being watched. "You're a terrible guest."

"What? That?" she hitches a thumb at the scene; Samantha scrambles around the gambling table as Eezo growls. "Babes like Traynor never set foot in battle. I'm making her earn that Alliance uniform."

"The one you don't wear?"

Jack dismisses the words with a wave of her hand before gulping down the doubleshot in front of her. Tequila. It's the fifth one Miranda has witnessed her ingest and it doesn't seem to have fazed her. "Big place."

"Big party," Miranda reminds her. "Many guests."

They watch Samantha throw a deck of cards at the varren. He releases a flick of biotics with his tail, pushing her back into the bookshelf. "Neat little guy," Jack says turning to Miranda. "So, Kai Leng really stuck it to you, didn't he? You've always been like butter."

Both statements are antagonistic. If Miranda didn't know better she'd guess Jack was trying to get under her skin. She already has and she knows it. Miranda takes a sip of red wine, attributing any heat in her face to the alcohol and not Jack's doublespeak euphemisms. "And you've always been an idiot," she snaps back softly. "I suppose consistency is a comfort in times like these."

"Tali's been puking in the bathroom for over an hour now," Jack grouses. "Who the hell let her drink that much? Think it fills up her helmet? All this fucking time later and I still don't know how quarians do half the things they do."

"You… care about Tali?"

"Now who's being stupid?" Jack gets to her feet. Samantha screams and sprints from the room, Eezo happily chasing in pursuit. "I thought she'd never fucking leave. Think a goddamn waste of money like this would have more doors."

"You'd think."

Jack jumps over the counter to her side. Miranda keeps her hand on the wine glass. Jack's eyes go blue, voice thick. "Let me see where he hurt you."


	7. Sway

His hesitation robotically slips away. As the beat of the music increases, Shepard begins to relax, clapping his hands, shaking his ass until Tali brings a hand to her mouth as if to hide her smile. He moves his arms from side to side, reminding Tali of Shattered Eezo mechs. Shepard grins. "And Jack said I can't dance!"

Tali laughs. The niggling wedge of jealousy that sparks at the mention of the woman's name quickly fades. Shepard is dancing for her in his cabin, trying to impress her. Shepard is a master on the battlefield. No one else even comes close. He has perfect control over his body.

Tali tries not to dwell on the image of his sculpted naked form in her mind, at his talents and flexibility in the bedroom (beds and surfaces, more specifically). How can he be such a terrible dancer? "I never said that I don't like watching you move," she tells him. He smiles, taking her arm and pulling her close. He moves her as if she were a mop and she sighs softly. "Do you know that Garrus tangos?"

"You're kidding. I thought that was a joke." Shepard frowns faintly. "Don't tell me he's trying to put the moves on my girl? I'll kick his bony ass in."

"Oh, stop that," but she doesn't know if she refers to his threats or his movements. She ceases movement suddenly and he nearly trips. She presses a hand to the small of his back, forcing him to stand straighter, brings her fingers to lift his chin before pressing a kiss there. She cherishes these moments when she can be without her helmet, if only for a short time. "You know, dancing is all about hip movement."

"Yours are better than mine," he grabs hers gently and pulls her closer. "If this is a competition it's one I'm going to lose." Tali tries not to lose her focus. "As it is, I'm beginning to feel a little lightheaded."

"I wonder why?" Tali asks wryly, trailing a finger along his chest. "For the record, I don't think you do too badly with yours." He laughs. It's good to see him laugh. Everything lately has been so hard. The Reaper War has kept him up most nights, has not allowed him even the brief respite of dreams.

"Mind telling that to the admiralty board? Might get Xen and the others off my back."

"Tell them how you get me on mine and the things you've done to the Admiral's daughter? That'll go well. You're crazy." As if they don't disapprove as it is.

"For you, Tali'Zorah Vas Normandy." They kiss and move back to the bed, Tali already beginning to forget that a dance was meant to take place. She has a handful of his shirt in her fingers and she pulls it away from him. His lips settle on her neck. She knows that there isn't much time before she's expected. This is a different dance altogether.


	8. 30 Percent

Samantha's face is flushed as she runs into the bedroom and takes a terrified glance backward. Shepard jumps to her feet. "Oh, thank God, it's not there." Samantha rests her hands on her thighs before straightening, wiping her forehead. "Who brings a bloody varren to a party? The thing is a monster! It damn near killed me," she goes to Shepard, "and Miranda and Jack continued on in their jovial conversation oblivious to my distress. Sometimes being the junior member of the Normandy really sucks—"

"Wait." Shepard takes her shoulders, looking with concern into her face. "Jack and Miranda were having a jovial conversation?"

Samantha pulls away from her. "Your concern is overwhelming." Shepard smiles and watches her flop back onto the bed. She debates whether she can resist temptation but given the absence of doors in the apartment and the overwhelming intoxication of the party attendants she decides she'll have to. She slides down beside her on the bed. "What are you doing up here? You've been talking about this party for weeks. If you tell me you've been checking work e-mail—"

Shepard grimaces. Guilty as charged. Samantha reads it on her face. "Actually, I had EDI forward me all those human and synthetic love sites you asked for?"

"Tali!" She shoots up to a sitting before falling back again. She snakes her arm around a pillow, covering her face with it. "I don't think I've ever been so mortified in my life," her voice comes muffled. "I will never, ever live this down." Shepard removes the pillow. "Please tell me you can see… the… allure. You're an engineer! You build things… drones… I mean, she's a testament to science!"

"Well crafted," Shepard agrees. Samantha looks at her suspiciously. "I can see the attraction," she admits, "just promise me you won't snap Joker in half. I'm hoping you'll settle for my measly thirty-percent cybernetic parts."

Samantha giggles. "I'll take that and more." Her hand slides along Shepard's side coming to a rest at the dip of her waist. "I thought you'd dress up for this. I hear you got all dolled up when you took that Maya Brooks to the casino." Her voice is momentarily sharp but Shepard doubts it's from jealousy. "All I ever see you in is this," she tugs gently at the Alliance shirt. "Woo a girl."

"Sorry. Time got away from me. I probably should make my way down to the party." Samantha is stunning in a form fitting black dress. "I didn't know I still had EDI for competition." Samantha pushes her gingerly. Shepard takes hold of her arm, kissing her. Each time feels like the first. Samantha has kept her grounded and sane through what has easily been the most difficult period of her life. Shepard worries the war effort causes her to neglect her.

"I wish this place had doors," Samantha laments, sitting up. "Now, let's get you into your dress uniform so I can show you off."

"Yes, ma'am."


End file.
